


A Dash of Magic

by DiRoxy



Series: Let's Write Sherlock: Challenge 15 - Tropes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Au: magic, Established Relationship, Let's Write Sherlock, M/M, challenge 15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:57:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2248188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiRoxy/pseuds/DiRoxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has always been in control of his more aggressive magic, but months of disuse does make it a little harder. At least John is there to put out the flames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dash of Magic

He hissed when the fireball scorched his palm, the ache radiating through his nervous system. The fire was an itching feeling under his skin, begging to be released without doing much more than backfiring when he held out. Scowling at his hands, he tried again to form a simple ball with the precise amount of flames he wanted. It held for a few moments, flickering into life just over his palm, but it soon wavered and collapsed into itself - it sent out a wave of heat that agitated his already blistered hand. Another hiss escaped his clenched teeth and frustration welled in his chest, a heavy heat that conflicted with the fire in his veins. This was simplistic, the very basics of fire magic, and yet he couldn’t get it to behave for him. Yes, he’d gone almost two months without tapping into his magic, but he’d gone much longer and it had never reacted like this before.

He tried yet again, watching it flicker before it died. Wash, rinse, repeat. He struggled for almost thirty minutes before he tugged his hair, wrenching the curls out of their natural state and frizzing it out. The basics were lost on him, but he knew that he’d had this mastered a long time ago. He held out a hand once more, summoning the fire and relishing briefly in the heat that swam through him before it burst into life. Unfortunately, he probably put more than a little too much power into it.

Smoke filled the air around him and he coughed in response, waving his hands in front of him to clear the way. Scanning over the room he quickly filed away what was damaged and what was - apparently - still on fire. Such as the table, John’s chair, and a part of the carpet. He grimaced, moving quickly to put them out by smothering it with his shoes - he didn’t trust his magic to operate correctly at the moment as frustrating as that was.

It was the carpet that gave away John’s exit from their bedroom, the soft swish of it underfoot and the faint coughing that came from him. “Christ, Sherlock, what did you do this time?” he rasped.

“I didn’t _do_ anything, it’s what I  _d_ _idn’t_ do that’s the issue,” Sherlock snipped back, stomping at the fire on the carpet and smothering it with his shoe. There was a long weathering sigh from behind him as John took in what had happened, and then a cool wave washed over the heat in the room. Water magic to his fire, dampening the fire and taking the heat out of it all. He turned to look at his husband, a pout twisting at his lips.

“I told you before that if you didn’t practice you would lose control,” was all John said as he passed by to get to the kitchen. There was the clatter of the kettle being filled and the stove turning on, followed by the clang of the kettle supposedly being placed on the stove. John reappeared after a moment, crossing over to Sherlock with steady, even steps. “Let me see your hands.”

Sherlock lifted them palms up to the doctor, flinching only slightly when he prodded at a few of the blisters. John mumbled something to himself and then wrapped his fingers around Sherlock’s hand. There was a cool tingling and when John moved away his hand, the blisters were gone and there was only a red rawness left that would fade within the day.

“There. Try not to blister them again,” John said. He smiled at Sherlock, stroking his fingers through his hair quickly. Reaching up onto his tip toes, he pulled the taller man down for a quick kiss, and pulled back smiling. “Good morning. Now, tea?” he asked. And without waiting for an answer, he went back to the kitchen and left Sherlock alone.


End file.
